


Hungry Ghost

by silvertiffany (diedominas1981)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Belly Kink, Body Worship, Feeding Kink, M/M, PWP, Smut, Stuffing, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diedominas1981/pseuds/silvertiffany
Summary: More than the pain in his joints, the sick aching in his head, the horrifying warping of his waking thoughts, nothing tortured poor Jopson out in the wasteland more than his own dreams. Perhaps it was because of the desolace of the landscape, but his dreams had never been more vivid and clear.He dreamt of nothing, absolutely nothing but food.I've noticed an ever-so-slight uptick in belly related kink fic so i thought i’d contribute ;^0
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Hungry Ghost

What would happen if he were to run? If Jopson, drifting into the dream he had every time he fell into sleep, where to get up from his dream palace bed of endless cloudy feathers covered with the coolest, softest linens and run? How far had his dream developed? Would he throw open the tall white and golden curtains to see… a deep green garden? The world? The road in the distance? Or perhaps, a brick wall? Another curtain? Blinding white nothing? Do the doors in this grand phantom rococo parlour even open? 

He dare not run. He dare not even move.

Jopson lay on his grand pedestal like always- was it even a bed? Or just a monstrous pile of comforters and pillows? His naked body sunk into the clean softness more than any mattress he had ever encountered. That being said, Jopson hadn’t ever slept on a mattress nicer than his captain’s stiff cot (or if it counts, his captain's plush stomach), so he supposed there could be beds such as this in the highest clouds of aristocracy. He was as good as naked, although not entirely. He wore a billowing champagne robe of thin ghostly silk which felt wonderfully cool against his bare skin. Its gargantuan sleeves spilled out over his sheets. He had a pair of pale yellow slippers that Marie Antoinette would surely die for, and at last, a strip of expensive black velvet tied neatly around his neck. The rest of him lay bare, clean of shale dust, blood and bruises. Not even the scars of childhood remained. In this dream he was a princess whose feet had never touched earth. There were enough pillows behind his back for Jopson to be propped up on display, his body facing the ornate doors on the far side of the room. And there he lay in wait for his dream to begin rehearsal, to play out just as it had the last time Jopson fell asleep. 

It started with his stomach growling. In his dreams, his organs had not yet given up on him and still had the fire within to hope for food. The roiling in his belly was almost pleasurable, just to feel his body stirring with life was a thrill he had forgotten. And as if his stomach were loud enough to be heard across the lofty halls, his doors would soon push open. 

Francis. Francis was not dressed in character like Jopson. No, he wore nothing but trousers and a linen shirt, held by sturdy suspenders. His chest hair poked out from the dip in his collar. Jopson blushed and pulled a warm smile. The skin on his lips did not crack, nor did his gums hurt from the friction. He shifted his slender frame, folding his legs shyly to cover himself. He lolled his head to look at Francis approaching him. He carried a silver tray above his shoulders. 

“Good morning, princess.” He cooed. Jopson hummed as he stretched his limbs. The morning light made his skin look smooth like fine icing. “Are you hungry?”

Francis’s voice had a deep purr in the word  _ hungry,  _ like he truly knew. As if he could see into Jopson’s eyes and back into his world, where hunger was one of many beasts that threatened to tear him and his once shipmates into rabid animals. 

“Yes, captain.” Clearly in this reality, Francis is not his captain. A servant even, but Jopson still could never call him Francis. At least, not while pleasantries still mattered.

“I know, my love.” His voice was honeyed, doting. Like a mother to a sick babe. Francis rubbed the back of his calloused hand against Jopsons naked stomach, causing goosebumps to rise all over his body. Jopson blushed at the feeling of his nipples hardening at the feeling of such a simple touch. “My hungry little boy.” 

“Worry not!” He looked into Jopsons eyes, his smile parting to show his gapped teeth. “I’ve brought you some breakfast, and I’ll make sure you eat it all.” Francis sat in a chair propped next to the bed.

The silver tray was obscured from view- whatever was on it was unknowable, morphing in shape and color. Jopson knew what to do

“Is that lemon cake?” He spoke, and so it became. If he were to ask for pudding, there it would sit, steaming and hot. Veal cutlet in tomato, and there it would appear, stench and all. 

“Why, yes it is.” Francis gathered a bite of the delicate sponge with a dainty fork as Jopson propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Now, now. Don't strain yourself, Jopson. I’ve got you. All you need to do is open your mouth.” 

Jopson did so, parting his lips and closing his eyes. He jumped as his lips were met with not the fork of cake but Francis’s kiss, his tongue slipping into the eager opening. Jopson rubbed a hand on his back as they kissed briefly, sucking softly on his captain's tongue. Francis broke away and delivered the first bite to Jopsons wet lips.

“I’m sorry, I just had to taste you.” Francis tipped the fork into Jopson’s mouth and the tart fluff bloomed on his tongue. His cheeks warmed at the brilliant taste and he swallowed. First of many. And so began their ritual, where Francis admired his youthful master, trailed his softened loving eyes over his slender body as he stated his hunger. The bites grew heavier, morphing from slivers of fluffy cake to strawberries, Francis holding the plump fruits at his mouth as he chewed. Bits of pink juice trailed down his chin and were wiped away by Francis’s gentle thumb. He could feel more than what should be possible- he could feel the bites of heavy sugar sliding down his throat and filling his empty stomach. He grew full but never satisfied, his stomach still gurgling out every couple of minutes. It was mousse now, perhaps. Jopson did not care. It was some sort of coffee flavored fluff, thicker than it looked and had Jopson still swallowing as the next bite came. The whip cream was so gratuitously towering that it smeared onto his lips, a peak even lingering at the tip of his nose. Jopson grew hotter as he ate, his breaths becoming heavier and his belly housing an irresistible heat that brought his cock to life. 

“You’re so beautiful, Jopson.” Francis purred. “How could it ever be- that you would be serving me?” Francis wiped away the cream on his lips and licked it off his own thumb.

“I want nothing in life but to sit here with you, worship your beautiful young body, take care of your every single need. Feed you every meal, every day.”

“I serve you because-” Jopson stopped to devour another bite, swallowing frantically into his hungry throat. “I love you.” Jopson didn’t have the time for poetry, he was too busy drooling for more. 

Francis put down the fork with a gentle clink and brought a crystal glass of water to Jopsons mouth. Jopson swallowed and cleaned out his throat, trying to suppress a very hearty belch the best he could. Francis’s eyes crinkled at the sound and he laughed.

“Besides,” Jopson rubbed a slender hand over his own stomach, surprised at the slight lump he found. “I’ll grow fat if you do that.”

“Aye, you will.” Francis grabbed the back of Jopsons thigh and lifted it, rubbing at the soft flesh. “Your belly and thighs will get round and wobbly, and It’ll drive me wild, so wild that all I’ll ever want to do is sit here and make you fatter.”

Jopson pressed his thighs together at the thought, humming out in pleasure. They continued, Jopson growing more feverish and hungry with every bite, rubbing his own stomach as it filled out more.

The forks had been abandoned. Francis held the miniature cake aloft, a buttercream rose smeared against his finger. He passed it into Jopsons mouth and lingered there, his fingers massaging the broken up chocolate fluff. Jopson needn’t even chew, just lick over the fingers in his mouth and moan as more sugar entered him. God, at this point Jopson was so heated and hazy that Francis could feed him like a mother bird and he wouldn’t care, just as long as food was being stuffed into his insatiable throat, packed down into his growing stomach. Crumbs and bits of frosting and fruit now fell onto his chest, Which Francis stopped to clean. He passed his tongue flat over his nipple first before licking up crumbs, his wet marks causing the cool air to make Jopson moan.

“Please,” Jopson begged in the absence of his feeding. “I’m still hungry, Captain.” 

Francis’s hand returned to Jopsons belly, which sported a now noticeable bump which twitched when rubbed. Jopsons cock stirred at Francis’s administrations, precum beginning to bead at his neglected head. 

Jopson had been too busy staring at Francis as he was fed with heavy lidded eyes to really focus on his bulging stomach. He was far past full, his tummy cramping delightfully in protest. He groaned whenever he moved, his new weight sinking him deeper into his pillows. 

He was whimpering frantically as his feeding devolved into pure stuffing, multiple sickly sweet fluffy nothings entering his mouth at once, not even able to chew at the presence of Francis’s fingers. Francis pushed the food into Jopson’s throat himself- which should’ve made him gag but it didn't, his body too hungry to care, welcoming everything and anything, wanting more, more, more, more. He wanted to stay like this forever, growing heavier and heavier but he couldn't, even in his dream fantasy there was surely a point of bursting.

Jopson clasped a frantic hand on Francis’s wrist, craning his neck to steal the final bite. A petit four, whose gluey frosting and cold vanilla sponge he destroyed with his tongue, swallowing thick and heavy before sighing in defeat. His head flopped back against the bed, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He panted through his nose as he licked the sweet detritus that remained stuck to his teeth, his eyes closed and his brows furrowed. His breaths were shallow and hot, any deeper and his stomach would cramp harshly, causing a pained whine. His belly bulged tremendously, churning audibly in its futile attempt at digestion. He was so unnaturally full he looked pregnant, his tummy so big and round that it pushed his legs apart. Francis awwed when Jopson belched and then moaned aloud. He was at his lips with a napkin, cleaning the mess from his princess’s mouth and chest.

“Look at you,” Francis cooed. “You’re such a good boy, cleaning your plate. Eating all of your breakfast. Can you even move?” Jopson moaned at his praise.

“I’m so full, Captain.” He opened his heavy eyes to look at Francis, smiling weakly as he continued to pant. “God, it hurts… I’m so full.” 

“It hurts?” Francis’s voice was not concerned, he knew what Jopson was asking for. “Poor darling.” 

Francis’s warm palm met the top of his overstuffed belly, lingering it there before beginning his administrations. He rubbed his taut flesh so delicately, so perfectly. It caused him to twitch and cramp at first but soon bloomed into a deeply soothing sensation. Jopson’s belly seemed to agree, gurgling out as Francis massaged. He stopped to press his ear to his flesh. Jopson rested a hand in Francis’s hair as he delighted in the chorus of his digestion. He rubbed his face against his stomach, planting kisses on its warm underside. 

“God.” Francis interrupted, stunned speechless and unable to say anything else. “God..”

The statement was correct. His big belly was something to be worshipped. Francis was made for it, his hands the perfect roughness to spread goosebumps all over Jopsons body as he rubbed. His belly wasn’t the only thing damn near bursting.

Jopsons cock weeped with precum, rock hard and begging for touch. It left glittering pearls on his skin as it touched against the underside of his swollen belly. Francis soon noticed. He lifted a hand to press three fingers against Jopsons lips. He opened his mouth tiredly and slicked his fingers, humming at the taste of frosting that still lingered. 

Francis wrapped his slick fingers around Jopson’s cock, stroking soft enough not to cause his hips to buck. Francis loved when Jopson was like this- as fragile as possible, to be cradled with only the lightest touch. Jopsons legs shifted and kicked as Francis stroked him, moaning out long and velvety only to be interrupted by occasional hiccups. Francis stroked his cock with one hand and cradled his balls with the other, replacing the tummy rubs with his hot tongue. He laved over his growling tummy, panting out hot breaths on the wetness he left. Jopsons moans grew in volume, his toes curling and his hands gripping desperately into the sheets. 

He came with a loud cry and shot to cradle his aching belly, his cum shooting to splatter on the top of his wide stomach and dripping to land on Francis’s hand. Francis immediately went to lick the mess from his body, Jopson gasping at the obscene action. Francis swallowed down Jopsons cum with a pleasured hum. He felt the heat wash down his hips and legs as his orgasm subsided. His eyes closed, heavy and drowsy.

“Was that good, my bird?” Francis’s voice was low. Jopson could not bring himself to utter words, letting a groan in his throat suffice. His body felt as heavy as lead and he knew that it would soon be over. 

“I love you, Jopson.” Jopson begged for his mouth to open once more, to reaffirm his lover, his captain, his everything. But the tides of sleep were ebbing, and he braced for the sound of canvas flapping to rise again.

“Please…” He mustered- different, this time. His voice was worn and groggy, muddy in his own ringing ears.

“Thomas?” The equally desiccated voice of his captain- his real captain- forced the crust from his eyes. “Are you alright?” Francis sat at the side of his mat, just as in the dream.

Jopson pulled a weak smile for his captain. Although his flattened stomach burned in empty anguish, He thanked the watering of his mouth at the sight of Francis’s pale blue eyes.


End file.
